


Hero Pose™

by Talizora



Series: My Tumblr Ficlets and Drabbles [8]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternative First Meeting, Crack, Flirting, Humour, John in lycra, M/M, Sherlock wears a pirate hat, Superhero banter, Superheroes, dinner at Angelo's, hero!John, supervillain!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talizora/pseuds/Talizora
Summary: After being discharged from the Super Soldier™ program due to injury John decides to combat his depressive boring life by fighting London’s first Supervillain; Loony Desperado. Appearances may not be all they appear, is Desperado the true villain in this tale?“I demand you drop the citizen immediately.” The man calls out in a firm voice. At this, Sherlock turns around in disbelief. “Immediately? Surely I should land first unless you are wishing me to engage in an act of murder?” The interloper was dressed in the most ridiculous outfit Sherlock had ever seen, it was obviously some attempt at the overused and cliched Superhero costume. No doubt the imbecile has picked a suitably unimaginative name to match. Great Britain Man, or some such.





	Hero Pose™

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written collabratively by [Musing-Out-Loud](https://musing-out-loud.tumblr.com/) and [myself](http://tali-zora.tumblr.com/) for [H.I.A.T.U.S.](https://hiatustory.tumblr.com) April challenge 'Alternative First Meeting'

Captain London was the world’s first Superhero. It hadn’t always been part of his plan to become a Superhero, he was just John Watson. An ordinary man and a member of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, the first military unit within the Queen’s army to participate in the Super Soldier program.

The program had boasted a seventy-five percent success rate, the highest in the western world. John had thankfully been one of those successful soldiers enhanced through the treatments. For a time John had enjoyed his increased strength, sight, endurance and after months of training the ability to fly. However, John’s new superhuman abilities weren’t enough to save him from a stray bullet.

The Fusiliers had been deployed into a war zone, they were often used as a peacekeeper force sent into conflicts to bring them to a swift end. It was during one such assignment that John was hit in his left shoulder. The initial wound hadn’t been life-threatening, but the infection that soon set in almost killed him.

Once John had made it through the fever of infection and healed, his Doctors discovered that the extensive scar tissue prevented John from a full range of movement. Due to John’s now reduced viability as a Super Soldier, he was summarily honourably discharged and returned to London. A non-disclosure agreement meant that John was unable to tell anyone or use his abilities publicly least the Government come down on him.

It was after several months of boredom, inactivity and frustration that the first incident happened. Someone had stolen the Super Serum™ and used it on themselves, thus becoming London’s first Supervillain. Loony Desperado; as he was called by the British media.

Loony Desperado broke into Pentonville Prison wreaking chaos and destruction while assisting in the escape attempts of several prisoners. There seemed to be a madness to the method as various convicted rapists, murderers and thieves walked out unimpeded while other prisoners screamed for assistance from their cells. Loony Desperado walked past these cells with nary a backwards glance.

A month later, Scotland Yard received an intimate introduction to London’s new Supervillain as several of their officers were kidnapped from their homes. To add insult to injury, as the detectives were meeting to discuss these kidnappings; fluttering around like headless chickens, the ceiling crumbled in on top of them and a gloved hand reached down to lift the Police Commissioner by the scruff of the neck like an errant puppy. The police officers were only able to watch helplessly as Loony Desperado disappeared, with his victim in hand.

* * *

John has been sitting in his bedsit, attempting to put together some semblance of a super suit after hearing about the break-in at Pentonville Prison. He has some vague idea about anonymously tracking down the fugitives and restoring balance but as he looks indecisively at the face of the suit and wonders how much he really prioritises breathing and whether a hole for his mouth and nose is actually optional he is interrupted. A news broadcast flashes across his television with the words LIVE! glaring at him from the corner of the screen.

It’s a picture that appears to be broadcasting in real time from a police helicopter for all of London to see - a man flying. With a screaming, swaying bundle of red-faced Police Commissioner dangling below him like so much garbage.

“Oh, bloody hell!” John swears aloud as he stands to rip off his striped jumper and begins to pull on the lycra morph suit. A litany of curse words continued internally as he realised this suit is nowhere near ready for his first Supervillain encounter.

As John is rushing out of his dreary beige bedsit he grabs his set of red rubber washing up gloves from the sink and quickly pulls on matching wellingtons. There is a moment before John leaves his bedsit where he briefly realises that all Superheros wear a cape. As an afterthought, John snatches a white sheet off his bed and swiftly ties it around his neck. Kicking the door shut behind him, John pauses a moment to rehearse his Hero Pose™, before lifting off into the air to fly to the scene of the crime in progress.

Captain London was about to make his debut.

* * *

Sherlock was somewhat disappointed to discover that long-term amusement of super powers was short lived. There was an initial phase of ‘Whoohoo, I’m part of the seventy-five percent who survived’. There was also the initial novelty of learning what his new capabilities entailed and how far he could stretch the limit.

Unfortunately, after that, the boredom had set in. What was the point of superpowers? _Dull_. It had been this train of thought that had led to a quick online search and the purchase of a pirate’s hat, which now sat perched upon his curls (at a jaunty angle) with a red feather flapping in the breeze.

The useless dunderhead he was carrying trussed up in rope just wouldn’t stop screaming. How irritating.

“Screaming for the last ten minutes has obviously achieved nothing, I don’t understand why you believe continuing to do so will change the outcome of your current situation.” Sherlock sneered down at Scotland Yard's Commissioner, “You’re lucky I’m feeling so generous, really. With the number of murderers you’ve allowed to go free over the years, I should do the citizens of London a favour and just drop you into the Thames and be done with it.”

Sherlock gave the Commissioner a rough shake as his screaming reached a particularly shrill pitch which made his ears ring uncomfortably. Honestly, the stupidity of people never failed to surprise him. Maybe he should just drop him. Again.

He could keep dropping him, however many times it took for the message to get through, really. It would be an interesting experiment to determine how many repeated drops it would take for the man to remain silent for the rest of their flight to the prison.

“Halt, Loony Desperado!”

Sherlock stops at the unexpected shout before rolling his eyes and muttering to himself. “Wrong. Less than a month in this business and they already get the name wrong. It’s Bloodhound. Because of the feather. And I sniff out corruption. Obviously.”

“I demand you drop the citizen immediately.” The man calls out in a firm voice.

At this, Sherlock turns around in disbelief. “Immediately? Surely I should land first unless you are wishing me to engage in an act of murder?” The interloper was dressed in the most ridiculous outfit Sherlock had ever seen, it was obviously some attempt at the overused and cliched Superhero costume. No doubt the imbecile has picked a suitably unimaginative name to match. Great Britain Man, or some such.

The other hero was dressed in a garish royal blue morph suit, with red gloves, wellingtons and pants pulled over the top. He’d also tied a cheap two-hundred and fifty thread count white cotton sheet around his neck in a simile of the typical heroic cape. Sherlock was not impressed with the travesty of the British Flag which had been sloppily hand-painted on the man's broad chest.

“Don’t play games with me, Desperado. Drop him, or I will be forced to engage you in physical combat!”

“It’s Bloodhound; and, why exactly should I listen to you?”

“ _Oh!_ Yes, right… I-I’m Captain London and I have come to put an end to your reign of tyranny!” The so-called ‘Captain’ puffed out his chest and rested his fists on his hips, once again attempting to copy the typical pose of a Superhero. His sheet-cape caught the wind at that moment and jerked his neck backwards.

The following noise, something akin to _'Uggh!’_ was decidedly unheroic. Sherlock waited for the upstart to correct himself while also noting the disparity between the Captain’s sheet-cape and his own much more manageable and stylish Belstaff, billowing just so without interfering with his balance.

“Your sheet-cape is sub-par. You should adjust the length to draw level with your knees to prevent any unexpected drag. It would also assist with your balance while in flight. I know a good seamstress in Harold’s. Very reliable and discreet, if you’d like her number.”

The Captain’s only response to the suggestion is a sharp glare while his wheezing breaths puff the lycra material over the man’s mouth in and out.

“I repeat, drop the citizen.” Well, clearly the man was more brawn than brain. Sherlock had offered sound advice to improve his superhero attire _without_ insult. Yet he was ignored. This is what he got when he made the effort to conform to useless societal expectations of manners.

“I detest repetition. Here. Have him, if you can catch him.” Sherlock dropped the squirming, squealing pig of a man below him, somewhat content that the other corrupt police officers were safely housed within the prison cells of Pentonville.

Prison overpopulation became less of an issue when innocent men were no longer incarcerated. Perhaps the events of today would sufficiently scare the Commissioner into walking a more righteous path. If not, there was still the stash of evidence back at 221B.

Sherlock flies away to the soundtrack of screams fading as the distance between them grew before being abruptly cut off… By death or rescue, it was no longer his concern.

* * *

It had been a long day at the clinic, there was a stomach bug that had been making the rounds and so he and a couple of other GP’s had stayed back later than usual to help. John both loved and hated working at the clinic, it was boring treating people day-in-day-out for runny noses, sore throats and flu shots. But John also loved helping people, it was the reason why he’d become a Doctor in the first place.

At least walking home in the dark involved a certain level of risk. John caught himself wishing Loony Desperado would make another appearance and cause some mayhem if only so that it would give him an excuse to put on his Captain London guise again.

As John made his way towards his subway station he heard muffled shouting and the unmistakable sounds of fighting. It was coming from down the dark alleyway between the buildings to his right. Feeling a spike of adrenaline John turned down the alleyway and made his way as quietly as he could towards the source of the noise. “Oi!” John shouted he could just make out two people struggling.

“Help!” A familiar female voice called out to him, “John! He’s trying to take my bag!” It was Mary, the nurse who worked part-time at the clinic. She’d stayed back and left a few minutes before John. Mary had an unfortunate crush on John and had tried her usual poor attempt at getting John to join her for dinner. He didn’t feel any more enthusiastic about the suggestion the sixth time she’d asked than he had the first time. After having to gently turn her down  _again_ he wasn’t very amused to now be playing hero to her damsel-in-distress. She would be even _more_ insufferable after this, he was sure. But at least this opportunity promised a taste of real action even if it was as ordinary John Watson rather than Captain London.  

Suddenly John hears the rattle of metal from above as someone drops down from the fire escape on the side of the building and lands with a solid thump next to John. He caught nothing more than a glimpse of dark curls and a deep blue scarf flapping behind the stranger before the would-be thief, already spooked by John’s presence, decided to drop the handbag, turn heel and run in the opposite direction.

Without a second thought, John sprinted after them rather than stay to help Mary. John kept pace beside Mr Blue Scarf who had also chased after the thief. The bag-thief took an abrupt right and disappeared into the darkness up a laneway. John briefly hesitated but Mr Blue Scarf continued on with a hurried, “Follow me!” as they passed the laneway.

John lost a little ground in his hesitation and struggled to catch up with the longer stride of Mr Blue Scarf, but as they reached the end of the alleyway he was only a step or two behind. They entered the main street, the thief re-appeared nearby running straight even as Mr Blue Scarf shouted, “Turn left!” at John while he swung right.

Without considering why John followed Mr Blue Scarf’s direction and went left.

John didn’t slow down for traffic lights or other pedestrians as he careened around a corner and pelted past shops and parked cars, all the while mentally tracking his route. Skidding around a right turn, either about to make a fool of himself or - John collided with the fleeing criminal even as Mr Blue Scarf made a spectacular dive for their knees, resulting in a mess of limbs, cursed groans and sharp pain.

John struggled with the bag thief for a moment before he heard the unmistakable sounds of Mr Blue Scarf slipping some zip-ties around the criminals ankles.

“Fucking lunatics! You‘ve shattered my pelvis!” The thief screams,  “You ain’t no coppers! Please don’t kill me! I swear I will never steal again!”

Mr Blue Scarf stood up, ran a hand through his mess of curls and took a few deep breaths. “Consider yourself under a citizen's arrest.” The stranger quickly fished his smartphone out from within his coat (which seemed strangely similar to another coat John had seen recently) and put it to his ear. “Lestrade, send one of your least irritating officers to Black Prince Road. I have caught Mr Amberley.”

Mr Amberley chose this moment to let out a rather pathetic whimper of pain and sadness. Mr Blue Scarf considered the criminal for a moment before sighing disdainfully into his smartphone. “You should invest in a futon, Lestrade. Your wife has found other uses for your marital bed. Again. Perhaps an ambulance should also be arranged as we may have broken Mr Amberley.”

John watched in awe as Mr Blue Scarf, now finished with his phone bent down and lifted Mr Amberley without any apparent effort off of John. “Are you alright?” He asked.

It was at that moment that John realised Mr Blue Scarf was _gorgeous_. His eyes sparkled with excitement, his cheekbones were perfect and his lips- _christ_ -John wanted to kiss him. Feel how soft they were, to taste- _focus Watson_. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Mr Blue Scarf held out his hand and helped John to his feet.

The stranger stared at John intently for a moment, John tried not to squirm under the heavy gaze. “You followed my directions.”

“Yeah, well…” John shrugged and rubbed the back of his head self-consciously.

“I appreciate the assistance, you weren’t entirely useless.”

“Uh, thanks?”

The stranger held out his hand again, “Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.”

John took the leather gloved hand and shook it firmly. “John Watson.”

“Was it Afghanistan or Iraq?”

* * *

 

 It wasn’t until two days later that John realised while watching some old footage of Loony Desperado on the telly that Sherlock Holmes looked almost exactly like the Supervillain. In fact, John was almost positive they were one and the same. Desperado wore the same coat, scarf and sinfully tight bespoke suits. The only difference being that Desperado wore a pirate hat with a vivid red feather and pulled the blue scarf over his face so that you could only see his eyes.

John wondered why no one else had realised this fact, especially considering the man worked as a consultant for Scotland Yard. Surely the police weren’t that incompetent.  _Were they?_

John and Sherlock had hit it off immediately the night they took down the mugger together. In fact, Sherlock had asked John to move in with him. John hadn’t yet decided, especially now that he was all but convinced that Sherlock was London’s only Supervillain.

“We apologise for the interruption to your previously scheduled programming. Breaking news, London’s Supervillain Loony Desperado is at large again this morning. His new target appears to be several high ranking Barristers. We now go live to our correspondent on the scene, Kitty Riley. Kitty, could you tell us-”

John turned the television off and quickly struggled into his skin-tight suit, it was time to face off against Desperado again. “There has to be an easier way to get into this thing.” John grumbled.

* * *

Desperado was in the middle of _literally_ breaking into the Old Bailey when John finally arrived. It seemed that he enjoyed punching his way into buildings to get at the people inside. It was starting to become a bad habit. John took a moment to observe the villain before concluding that yes, this was indeed Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. In a pirate’s hat. Lord, people really didn’t _see_ , did they? Quickly, John struck his Hero’s Pose™ as he prepared to engage with his arch nemesis.

“Loony Desperado! I’ve come to stop you!” John called out in a firm voice, wondering how he was going to get through this encounter now that he knew exactly who Desperado was. Desperado paused and turned to glance in his direction, he was covered in a fine white powder and looked like he’d recently had a fight with a bag of flour and lost.

“Oh. It’s you, again. Still garish and blue, I see. Why do you persist in being so tiny-minded and wrong? How tedious. It’s _Bloodhound_. Maybe your suit is cutting off the circulation to your brain.”

“Desperado or Bloodhound, it matters not. I’ll stop your evil schemes no matter what you call yourself, although if you prefer I could always call you by your _real_ name.”

This seemed to fully capture Desperado’s attention. He raised his eyebrow in a mix of curiosity and disdain. The movement caused his pirate’s hat to tilt dangerously to the side. “Interesting. Even if by some minuscule chance you have discovered my real name, you would reveal the secret identity of a fellow Hero?”

John had to grit his teeth to stop from laughing, for someone who accused everyone they met of being an idiot, Desperado was woefully incorrect. “Fellow Hero? Not likely. You’re Supervillain Loony Desperado. I would happily give your real name to all the media outlets and newspapers of Britain if I thought it would stop you.”

Desperado now looked visibly affronted, almost hopping up and down on the spot in outrage.

“Bloodhound! It’s Bloodhound! My Hero status is so obvious I find it hard to believe that it has escaped you due to its sheer obviousness! I am no Supervillain! I am a Super _hero_. You’re the one obstructing justice! Lord, you think I freed those innocent men from Pentonville because it was part of some evil plan? Or then re-filled those empty cells with corrupt policemen for fun? It was a colossal waste of my time anyway because Scotland Yard let them back out again!”

John frowned in confusion, “You-you freed innocent people?”

“Of course I did! What do you think I was doing, randomly choosing criminals I liked the look of to set free? If I was a real supervillain, why would I leave some criminals behind? Why would I even start there as my first act? Surely I’d take out the CCTV system first, or perhaps rob a bank? Honestly.”

“Oh… Well… Ehhh... Sherlock, I think you’ll need to go about your heroic acts a little bit more obviously. Try leaving a note maybe next time, so the police know what you’re about?” John rubbed the back of his head.

Desperado’s eyes narrowed at John’s gesture. “John?”

“Yeah?” John answered before he realised that Desperado had used his real name and not his Super-Alias™. “Ahh... I mean. No? I don’t know anyone called John. Who is this John person you speak of?”

“Well, I knew you were desperate for a bit of action but I didn’t think you would put yourself in distractedly skin-tight lycra and wear your pants on the outside. It suits you much better than that horrid jumper you wore the other night. Were you seriously going to move in with me? Knowing I was Bloodhound?”

“Uuuh, well… I hadn’t actually decided on that yet.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Oi!”

“Oh don’t be offended, almost everyone is. Well then, now that you know I’m _not_ a Supervillain… And we know each other’s secret identities. Still feel like obstructing justice? It’ll be just as dangerous for you if you tried to expose me because just as you could tell them about me, I could tell them about you.”

John sighed. “Well... If they  _really_ were innocent…”

“Of course.”

“Then… I guess it’s all good. Except what’s with the Old Bailey?”

“Just a few corrupt Barristers. There were a few leftover cells in Pentonville I thought could use some new tenants.”

“Could you maybe...not?”

“I suppose. It’s already proving more tedious than I expected. The building is really no longer up to code and at the end of the day, I’ve probably done everyone a favour just by doing this much. Dinner?”

“Starving.” John grinned like a fool, but it was not at all visible beneath the lycra.

* * *

Sitting across from Sherlock at a restaurant called Angelo’s (Sherlock got the owner off a murder charge), John felt there might be something to Belstaff coats after all. Even if it was four sizes too big, covering up not only his skin-tight lycra but his red wellington boots too. Sherlock had given up his coat to John and pulled down his scarf but kept the hat firmly on his head. It was a damn fine hat, after all. And people still don’t _see._

“Team Bloodhound and his sidekick Captain London. It has a lot of potential, you know?” Sherlock had been arguing for a new Superhero Team™ with 221B Baker Street as a base of operations since they arrived.

“Not a chance, even if you added ‘dashing’ to the sidekick. What I think you mean is Captain London and Bloodhound; Consulting Heros. It has a better ring to it.” John broke a piece of garlic bread in half and waved a hand in Sherlock’s direction popping it into his mouth.

Sherlock waved this off dismissively. “Move in with me first, perhaps I’ll consider it.”

“You’re not going to consider it, you’ve already decided.”

“You still haven’t answered my question, Captain. Will you move in with me?” Sherlock grinned and gave John a heated look that went straight to his groin.

“Well, I suppose that depends. Girlfriend?” John leant forward, stomach in knots as he put himself on the line, at least a little. It was worth a shot, John would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to find out if Sherlock was interested in him.

Sherlock wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Not really my area.”

John felt his hopes soar, that sounded very promising. “Boyfriend, then?”

The detective leant forward too, they were close now. John could feel Sherlock’s hot breath ghost over his lips. “Hmm, not currently…” Sherlock's voice rumbled deep in his chest, god it was like liquid sex. “It would seem I have an opening in that regard.”

John almost jumped when he felt Sherlock’s foot stroke up and down his calf, it felt soft and silky through the lycra morph suit. It seemed Sherlock had taken John’s words to heart earlier about being more obvious with his actions and making his intentions clear.

“Then I don’t think we’ll be needing two bedrooms, do you?”

**THE END™**


End file.
